


All About You

by Topicabo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Confusion, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topicabo/pseuds/Topicabo
Summary: “What do you think of me?”“Why do you wish to know?”“Curiosity. Come on, humor me.”





	All About You

**Author's Note:**

> This one's been sitting in my draft doc. for a bit now. I think it was supposed to be part of Little Steps at one point. Round and Round was as well; they were both basically two alternate parts of the story and I was trying to see which one would work, but then I ended up not using either. But it worked out because then I could flesh them out into their own stories.

Greg and Mycroft had been sitting in the Strangers Room of the Diogenes Club when Greg spoke.

 

“What’s your opinion of me, Mycroft?”

 

Mycroft languidly glanced up, Greg’s voice pulling him out of their cocoon of companionable silence.

 

“Sorry?”

 

Greg took a sip of his brandy before placing the drink on the side table next to his chair. “What do you think of me?”

 

“Why do you wish to know?”

 

“Curiosity.” Greg snickered as Mycroft perfectly illustrated his skepticism with a mere lift of an eyebrow. “Come on,” Greg said, straightening up and spreading his arms outwards from himself in mock presentation. “Humor me.”

 

Mycroft eyed Greg, torn between amusement and bewilderment. With a slight shake of his head, he set his tumbler down and settled back into his chair.

 

“Well, you’re certainly unpredictable at times,” Mycroft said, folding his hands over his lap.

 

“In a bad way or good way?”

 

“I’d say that generally depends on your mood.” There was a definite inquisitiveness underlying Mycroft’s tone as he wondered over the reason for this personal evaluation. Greg merely gestured for him to continue. “You have a strong moral code, are hard-working and selfless to an occasionally worrisome degree, and possess deductive skills that Sherlock ought to give you more credit for.” Mycroft paused and gave Greg another questioning look. “Will that suffice?”

 

“Eh, I guess. Not exactly what I was asking though.”

 

“How so?”

 

“It’s all a bit technical, innit? Like you were reading about me in a textbook.”

 

Mycroft huffed in mild exasperation. “How would you go about it, then?”

 

“What, for you, you mean?”

 

“It only seems fair.”

 

“Hmmmm…” Greg pursed his lips, thumb and index finger cupping his chin in a pantomime of deep contemplation. At one time, Mycroft would have remained stoic in the face of such silliness. But he had to admit that Greg had a rather disarming way about it.

 

“Well,” Greg said, shrugging offhandedly, “I think I’d start with your eyes.”

 

A second or two of silence passed. Mycroft blinked once, then again while his face went blank. “You would?”

 

“Sure. I’ve spent enough time looking at them.” Mycroft must have appeared more visibly startled than he realized, because Greg quickly clarified, “Copper habit. I’m used to automatically trying to read everyone I meet. And eyes are the most expressive part of a person. Even then it’s still bloody difficult to figure out what goes on inside that head of yours. I think that’s why I’ve always looked a little closer when it comes to you.”

 

Greg’s tone carried his familiar brand of nonchalance, and yet Mycroft detected a subtle undercurrent to the words that his ears couldn’t help but latch on to. It was further compounded when Greg paused, his features shifting into a look that Mycroft didn’t have a name for but almost recognized.

 

“They’re nice, you know? All dark blues and greys. I actually didn’t notice the colour until I saw you smile for the first time. Utterly daft that it took me so long to realize it. Course, it took me even longer to pick up on your hair.”

 

“My what?” Mycroft was somewhat baffled at that point. It was as though there were two different conversations going on and he was only privy to one of them.

 

“You dye it, right?”

 

Mycroft’s eyes went wide, his lips parting. An immediate denial nearly slipped off his tongue, but it was curtailed by the fact that Greg looked less like he was genuinely asking, and more like he was just verifying a long-held assumption.

 

“How did you know?” Mycroft asked hesitantly. Except for during his monthly hair appointments, no one had brought up the fact that he wasn’t a natural brunette in so long that he was a bit shaken to be reminded of it.

 

“Luck, honestly. It’s so hard to make out that the first few times I thought I was imagining things. But every once in a while, the light catches your hair at just the right angle, and there it is.” Greg’s smile was wistful, sentimental. “Like the sky right before the sunset burns out.”

 

Mycroft swallowed, feeling a prick of heat in his chest. Greg’s assessment was certainly thorough. Thorough, and more than a bit intimate. He turned his eyes down to his hands, absentmindedly twisting the ring to and fro on his finger. “The red was quite… pronounced when I was younger. I find this shade to be less conspicuous.”

 

“Damn shame. Bet it looked brilliant on you.”

 

Mycroft’s eyes darted back up, a stubborn, insecure piece of himself wary that he was being mocked. But he could find nothing malicious or mean-spirited in Greg’s demeanor. If anything, it was playful, warm, and-

 

Mycroft froze, his stomach taking an abrupt drop down to his feet.

“Finally got it, didn’t you?” Greg said knowingly, a faint smile resting on his lips.

 

It took a full three seconds for Mycroft to regain his capacity for speech, an impressive achievement on Greg’s part. He stared in disbelief, understandably disconcerted since what he knew as reality had just been flipped on its head. “You’re flirting with me.”

 

Greg let out a little snort of laughter, his expression affectionate. “Never change, Mycroft.” He got to his feet, stretching out his back before taking the two steps that put him in front of Mycroft’s chair. “Truthfully, I was hoping it’d take you a bit longer to pick up on it,” he said, flashing a wink. “Plenty more about you to appreciate.”

 

“But, that’s-“ Mycroft shook his head, adamantly trying to deny the conclusion his own logic was presenting to him. “I don’t understand.”

 

“I know. I know you don’t.” Greg bent down, leaning his palms onto the chair’s armrests. At this distance Mycroft could smell his fading cologne, see the lines under his eyes caused by working too long and sleeping too little. A noticeable tremor raced through Mycroft’s entire body, and he was mortified that at this proximity Greg couldn’t have missed it.

 

“I kept waiting for you to suss it out. I thought I was so obvious, that any second you’d see right through me. I couldn’t figure out why you didn’t. But it wasn’t that you didn’t know, was it? You just couldn’t make sense out of it.”

 

Greg sighed, that kind smile becoming more amused. “Silly berk. How can you be this clever and not even realize when someone fancies you?”

 

A frisson of shock lanced through Mycroft’s chest, trailing heat in its wake. Why was Greg saying these things? Why was he saying them so tenderly, with such fondness? And of all the people that Greg could say them to, why him?

 

“I hope you know this isn’t me having a lark or taking the piss out of you. I mean everything I’ve said. And not just because I think you’re damn attractive,” Greg added, a playful quirk to his lips that loosened into something more subdued. “I’m so glad I know you, Mycroft. And yeah, you constantly drive me spare, but even then, I’d rather be with you at your worst than almost anyone else at their best.”

 

Mycroft tensed as he became aware of Greg’s hand on his shoulder, though he had no idea how long it had been there. Greg immediately eased up, putting only as much weight behind his grip as gravity naturally provided.

 

“If you’d rather leave things as they are, that’s fine. But I won’t lie, Mycroft. I’d like to see if this could go somewhere.” Greg faltered, suddenly a little less sure of himself than he had been in the past few minutes. “And I’m really hoping it’s not just me.”

 

Mycroft stared at Greg helplessly, terrified by his inability to grasp the situation. It was one of the few things he could manage besides just sitting numbly in his chair while his reason and emotions warred back and forth in a messy, confusing tangle. Greg felt for him. Felt beyond just the singular friendship that, against all odds, had developed between them. And he did so even though common sense said that he shouldn’t, couldn’t feel for someone like Mycroft.

 

And yet, in his mind Mycroft now saw all those seemingly inconsequential interactions that he’d brushed off brought into stark focus: unnecessary but thoughtful words, handshakes or pats on the back that lingered for one or two extra moments, or the transparent affection behind so many of those smiles. It had all been right there in front of him, and he hadn’t _seen._

 

Mycroft looked at Greg, really looked at him in a way that he hadn’t allowed himself to before. At the little bristles of stubble that never seemed to completely disappear from his jawline, the apprehensive curve to his lips, his eyes. Had Greg’s eyes always been so brown, so expressive?

 

Had he always been so beautiful?

 

“You truly want this?” Mycroft finally asked, unable to get the weight behind his voice that he would have preferred.

 

Greg’s eyes widened, and then his uncertainty smoothed into a smile that was openly hopeful and swiftly growing in confidence. Large, slightly rough fingers caressed the side of Mycroft’s face, curving against his cheek. Greg was so close now, gazing at him with that devastatingly gentle look.

 

“I want you.”

 

 _Dear God_.

 

The buzzing panic in Mycroft’s chest settled, dying down into smoldering warmth that flowed through him like melted wax. He felt dizzy, exposed to a frightening degree.

 

And for the first time, beyond anything he’d experienced in his youthful infatuations or more recent dalliances, he wanted.

 

He wanted badly.

 

Greg made a quiet, surprised sound when Mycroft leaned forward to kiss him, but he quickly adjusted. The angle was rather awkward on Mycroft’s neck and Greg’s back, so when Greg pulled him to his feet Mycroft went willingly. That improved matters; their hands able to roam and clutch at each other as their lips met again and again. Mycroft found it oddly endearing that his height advantage caused Greg to tip up onto the balls of his feet every so often.

 

“That a yes, then?” Greg asked, ghosting breath against Mycroft’s mouth.

 

“I…” Mycroft abruptly remembered with regret that one couldn’t kiss and talk at the same time. He settled for pressing his forehead to Greg’s, using the contact to ground himself. “I’m still not sure if this is real.”

 

Greg chuckled low in his throat. “Any way I can help with that?”

 

“Kiss me again.”

 

Greg hummed a wordless response before happily complying with Mycroft’s request. And as Greg took the kiss in a more enthusiastic direction, Mycroft decided that it wouldn’t be the worst thing if it took repeated appeals for him to finally understand things.

 

Especially if Greg continued with this particular line of persuasion.

**Author's Note:**

> Was starting to think I'd never get something new written! So much writer's block, but this one finally came out in the end. 
> 
> I think I do a lot of "let's sit around and talk" stories. But maybe that's just what I'd like to see more of, so I write it?


End file.
